By Zahed Haftlang, Najah Aboud, Meredith May
Khorramshahr, Iran, might 1982—It used to be the bloodiest conflict of 1 of the main brutal wars of the 20 th century, and Najah, a twenty-nine-year-old wounded Iraqi conscript, used to be head to head with a thirteen-year-old Iranian baby soldier who used to be ordered to kill him. in its place, the boy devoted an fabulous act of mercy. It used to be an act that many years later could store his personal life.
This is a amazing tale. it really is gut-wrenching, crucial, and miraculous. It’s a conflict tale. A love tale. A page-turner of large ethical dimensions. An eloquent and haunting act of witness to horrors past grimmest fiction, and a specific thing of towering attractiveness. extra importantly, it's a tale that has to be informed, and a richly textured view into an neglected clash and misunderstood area. this can be the nice untold tale of the kids and younger males whose lives have been sacrificed on the whim of vicious dictators and unnecessary, barbaric wars.
Little has been written of the Iran-Iraq conflict, which used to be one of the so much brutal conflicts of the 20 th century, one fought with chemical guns, ballistic missiles, and cadres of kid soldiers.
The numbers concerned are staggering:
—All instructed, it claimed 700,000 lives—200,000 Iraqis, and 500,000 Iranians.
—Young males of army provider age—eighteen and above in Iraq, fifteen and above in Iran—died within the maximum numbers.
—80,000 Iranian baby infantrymen have been killed, commonly among the a while of 16 and seventeen.
—The nations spent a mixed 1.1 trillion cash battling the war.
infrequently does this sort of reportage be triumphant so energy- absolutely as literature. extra infrequently nonetheless does such searingly impressive literature—fit to face beside Remarque, Hemingway, and O’Brien—emerge from at the back of “enemy” lines.
yet Zahed, a baby, and Najah, a tender restaurateur, are infrequent men—not simply survivors, yet masterful, wondrously talented storytellers. Written with award-winning journalist Meredith may well, this can be literature of a truly excessive order, set down with ardour, urgency, and consummate ability. This tale is an confirmation that, finally, it really is our humanity that transcends politics and borders and saves us all.
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Extra info for I, Who Did Not Die
Sample text
You could never keep a secret in Masjed Soleyman, not even if you tied a rock to it and threw it deep into the bottom of the Karun River. I shot her hot daggers with my eyes. Before I could stop her, Leyla reached into my pants pocket and tossed the coins I’d stolen on the table. They landed with a sickening clunk. Baba jumped to his feet and slapped me, and my fork went flying. At the same instant, I wet my pants. “Tell me where this came from, right now,” he boomed. ” I pleaded with my eyes to Maman, but to her, thieves were lower than worms.
The shushing of the date palm fronds in the breeze told me I was near the bus stop, which meant only a few more steps to reach my castle. The metal retracting door clacked as I pushed it up, and with a flick of a switch the outdoor floodlight lit up the deserted street like a theater stage. ” There was no name on the awning, but customers had started calling it that after I redecorated the walls with Bruce Lee movie posters. Men and schoolboys alike were taken with the martial arts hero, and the posters of him twirling nunchucks and flexing his abs were good for business.
And lied. ” I felt myself being dragged to the kitchen by the back of my shirt and heard the gas stove ignite. While Baba held me down, he ordered Maman to bring him a kebab skewer. He held it in the flame until it glowed red, as I thrashed, trying to break free. But I was a fly caught in a jar, frantically slamming into the glass with no chance of escape. “You stupid idiot! You think you can lie to me? Where did you steal this? You know what happens to thieves? ” I screamed as he brought the skewer toward me and Maman begged him to stop, but Baba was so mad his ears had shut down.